


Amatus

by robotichawk



Series: Tumblr prompts and Random Stuff [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotichawk/pseuds/robotichawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Lavanor Lavellan, being fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amatus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabidtanuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidtanuki/gifts).



> A short drabble prompted by, and meant for lovely [rabidtanuki](http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com/) at tumblr. Lavanor Lavellan is her OC. Check out her amazing art!!!

It’s a simple thing, really. Just one simple word. Short, concise, rolls off the tongue smoothly. It sounds so perfect on his lips, lingers gently on the warm puff of his breath.

But he never utters it out loud.

Dorian looks at Lavanor’s shortly cropped hair, shimmering in the bright sunlight blazing brightly in the achingly chilly mountain air. His brilliant blue eyes hold the rolling waves of the tempestuous sea; blazing with a force comparable to a tempest when he’s angry, smooth and serene like the quiet sea when he is happy.

Really, that one word fits him so perfectly. But Dorian never utters it out loud.

Inquisitor Lavellan. Herald of Andraste. Boss. Hunter. Even Lavanor.

The man has many names, and an even larger number of titles that hangs dreadfully on to his drooping shoulders. Dorian knows that better than most. Dorian’s seen his somewhat petulant side hidden deep within his quarters – almost childlike and adorable. Most unbefitting of a blessed hero sent to save them all, but Dorian can’t help but kiss his pouting lips with an amused chuckle.

His plump, full, sensual lips curves up at the corners when he looks at Dorian, a soft smile that he reserves just for him. His cheeks flush a little, a shy glow on his face when he catches Dorian ogling at him.

The word rolls so easily off his tongue, hangs at the very edge of it. But Dorian never utters it out loud.

They share warm meals within Skyhold. They trek to the most dreadful places they could possibly find in all of Thedas, and warm each other’s bedrolls under the starry sky. Dorian heals his countless cuts and yells at him to please be more fucking careful, while Lavanor grins, laughs, and kisses him on the nose – and then complain of his healing magic tickling him.

Really, the word just begs to leap out of his mouth. But it never does. Dorian never utters it out loud, not even when they finally feel each other’s naked skin.

Because Dorian can’t ask more from him.

Dorian knows the reputation of Tevinter mages down here in the South. Already Lavanor’s had to snarl at that Chantry cleric to quiet the spurious rumors floating about the keep. Lavanor’s being ripped to shreds trying to keep up with all the duties the Inquisitor is expected to perform. Lavanor already has so many titles.

Dorian couldn’t possibly ask Lavanor to carry yet another title for him. The man is already a Herald to the Faithful. Inquisitor to Thedas. Hunter to his Clan, Boss for his companions. The list is endless. Dorian doesn’t want to add another entry to that list. Especially not a Tevene one.

So Dorian never utters it out loud.

He grins, he smirks, he makes suggestive remarks and takes the man to his bed. They snuggle warmly in the cozy corner of the library, read together while facing the frosty window of the tower.

The man even goes so far as to tell Dorian that this is something more than a simple pleasure, that this is much deeper than the casual satisfaction of physical needs. Dorian nearly weeps at those wondrous words.

So he never utters it out loud.

Until, he does.

The word has been floating around in his head for so long, dangling on his lips every time he speaks to Lavanor that when it slips out, Dorian doesn’t notice it. The jagged edges have been smoothed by all those months he’d spent swallowing that word back in his throat, tempered and polished until Dorian doesn’t even realize that the word is something that wasn’t meant to be uttered out loud.

Because somehow Lavanor and that word became one in his mind while he wasn’t paying attention.

“What does that mean, Dorian?” Lavanor asks, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling curiously at him. But Dorian hasn’t the faintest idea what Lavanor’s asking about.

“What does what mean?” He asks back, looking up from the book he’s been reading.

“Amatus. You just called me amatus.”

Dorian blinks. And blinks again.

“I did?”

“Yes, Dorian. What does that mean?”

Dorian feels his mouth dry, a cold sweat breaking out over his brows. He’s never thought he’d ever utter the word out loud.

“Don’t mind it, Lavanor. It’s-”

“Dorian, I don’t care if it’s nothing. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go ask Josephine.”

And Dorian knows he’s lost. Sometimes, Lavanor is just insufferable.

“It’s… it’s a term of endearment, I suppose.” Dorian mutters, not quite able to look at him straight in the eye. He wishes he’s never uttered the word out loud.

“Really? You’ve never called me that before.”

Dorian glances at Lavanor, unable to think of anything to say. He’s not quite sure what he could possibly say. But the blue eyed man looks thoughtful, his lips fluttering silently as he mulls over the strange word.

“I like it.” Lavanor declares proudly, making Dorian blink once more.

“What?”

“Amatus. I like it. You should call me that more often, Dorian. It feels more… it feels special between us. Call me amatus from now on, Dorian." He laughs, easy and kind. The fetching pair of blue eyes shines brightly, and Dorian knows he means it. Lavanor truly wants to be ‘amatus’ to Dorian.

“I suppose I will,” Dorian chuckles along, lips curving in a quiet smile. “ _amatus_.”

 


End file.
